


Cherry Wine

by musiclily88



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), Little Mix (Band), Neon Jungle (Band), One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: All girls school, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Biphobia, Bisexual Female Character, Catholic School, Cis Girl Louis, Cisgender, College, Coming Out, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/F, F/M, Female Characters, Female Friendship, Female-Centric, Femme, Gen, Genderswap, Girl Direction, High School, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, I HAVE SO MANY PLANS, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Social Anxiety, Underage Drinking, United States, University, biphobic language, cis female, cis girl, cis girl harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:18:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2179386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Harry are the best, the very best of friends. They're classmates at an all-girls school, and sometimes that's complex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Girls Are Bad Girls (Who Haven’t Been Caught)

**Author's Note:**

> A VERY thinly veiled version of my own life.
> 
> Yes, I went to an all-girl high school. That's just the beginning.
> 
> Buckle up, my loves.

Harry has one hand down her panties, two fingers circling her clit, as her phone buzzes in the breast pocket of her uniform shirt. It’s the vibration that sends her over the edge, but the image in her mind is of Louis. _Lou._ She climaxes silently, screwing her eyes shut. 

She should not have let her mom convince her that going to an all-girls high school would be advantageous. 

She sighs, wiping her fingers on her bare thigh before fishing her cell phone out of her shirt pocket. She sets the pleats of her uniform skirt back into place carefully before unlocking her phone.

Think of the devil and she shall appear.

_Party tonight! Sound the alarm_ Harry reads from the screen, a message sent to her by none other than Louis herself.

_What? Since when?_

_Since I convinced Jesy that it’s been way too long, that’s when_

Harry doesn’t know if Jesy actually likes her, since they kind of only run on the fringes of the same friend group, but she’s unlikely to turn down a chance to hang out with Louis, even at a party that will likely turn into a complete fuckfest. _I’ll see if I can drive us, mom’ll probably let me take the car_

:::

Harry has a lukewarm beer in one hand, feeling a pulsing pain behind her right eye. She’s sort of listening to what Nick’s saying, something about his Shakespeare paper that under normal circumstances she would find fairly interesting. But right now, she wants to leave before someone inevitably trips and lands in a plate glass window like last time.

And that desire has nothing to do with the fact that Louis is sloppy and charming and very drunk, seated in Stan’s lap.

“What?” she asks, belatedly, realizing Nick stopped speaking moments ago.

“I said, you’re not drinking much tonight?”

“Gotta get my mom’s car back tonight. Drove Lou here too.”

“Gotcha. And like,” he begins slowly. “Your hair looks different than usual.”

Harry flicks a piece of her dark brown hair out of her eyes. “Louis convinced me to straighten it. I kind of hate it.”

“It looks nice. You—you look nice.”

“Thanks.” She’s suddenly aware that he is standing very, very close to her, and also that he is extremely tall. Harry’s always been good with details. “Anyway, you were saying? Something about how they’re deciding leadership soon at St. Franks?”

Harry supposes that one of the saving graces of her high school is its proximity to the all-boys school next door, even if St. Francis is a military academy. The boys wear uniforms way worse than hers, and she laughs about it behind her hand.

“Yeah, I’m heading up for promotion soon. I think Greg’s most likely gonna get it, though.”

“Well, I’m pulling for you, anyway,” she adds lamely, setting down her beer bottle.

“Thanks.”

“I need to use the bathroom. Be back.” She weaves her way around bodies in the overcrowded basement, ducking her chin down so no one makes eye contact with her. The floor of the bathroom is wet and Harry hopes it’s just water from the sink. She tries not to puke.

She only leaves the bathroom after a belligerent dude knocks and tells her she’s hogging it. She returns to the party, sitting on the arm of a shitty leather sofa to watch the intense game of beer pong that Jesy initiated with her best friend. Perrie taps out, switching places with Jesy’s boyfriend Luke.

Perrie plops down on one side of Harry just as Louis stands up, untangling herself from Stan with a loud laugh. It startles half the room, but Perrie just shakes her head fondly. “God, that girl.”

Harry snorts, not unkindly. “She’s something.”

Perrie shrugs a single shoulder. “You know, when I first met you two, I could have sworn you were fucking,” she whispers, moving to toy with a bit of Harry’s hair.

“What?” Harry goes hot and cold, thinking again that she might puke before the party’s over. She wants to puke, wants to rid her body of the things that make her feel like death, but she can’t. She can’t do much at all, really.

Perrie shrugs again, planting a kiss on Harry’s temple. “Hey, let me get you a refill, yeah?” she offers as Louis swoops closer. She gives Harry a small smile as she moves away.

“Hey, hands off my wife!” Louis crows feebly slapping at Perrie, who heads over to the makeshift bar, which is mostly just a keg and a bottle of Goldschlagger. Louis lands in Harry’s lap and nuzzles against her neck. “Hi, wife. Saw Perrie trying to steal you.”

“She wasn’t trying to steal me, she was just—helping me plan our wedding,” Harry says, lying like it matters.

“I already told you, it’s gotta be in a cemetery or an abandoned churchyard. Bar none.”

Harry sighs. “I’m just not sure how I feel about the color scheme,” she adds quietly, choking down the rising bile in her throat.

“Black and silver are very dignified!”

“Wearing a black wedding dress is not dignified, Lou, it’s dramatic.”

“And that’s why you love me.” Louis attaches her lips and teeth to Harry’s neck, sucking down hard. She’s going to leave a mark.

“Ow, hey, stop it. You’re drunk.” Harry is definitely, definitely dying.

“So?” Louis whispers, trailing kisses up Harry’s neck.

“I’m not drunk.”

“So what?” Louis plants a wet kiss on Harry’s lips.

“I just—”

“Fine, whatever.” Louis sighs heavily and steals the drink that Perrie brings for Harry.

Harry never should’ve enrolled at Sacred Heart.

:::

Louis’ too drunk for Harry to reasonably consider dropping her off at her own house, likely as it is that she’ll wake up her entire family. Instead Louis stays over at Harry’s and they sleep in Harry’s double bed, Louis plastered tight to her back like they might become unmoored otherwise.

“Think Nick likes you,” Louis slurs sometime around three a.m., arms clutched tight around Harry’s ribs.

“Oh.” _Oh._

“Yeah, that’s what Greg was saying. I think it was Greg. I forget.”

“I dunno, maybe. Perrie said something earlier, it was kind of weird—”

Louis laughs loudly and Harry shushes her a bit. “Oh my god, me too, she said that Ashton or someone had pictures of me and her kissing on his phone, like it was some big deal or something.”

“You and Perrie kissing?”

“I kept telling her I’m not gay, but apparently she was embarrassed because the boys were being ridiculous or something.” Louis laughs like it’s a _thing._ Like it’s something to laugh about.

“Oh.”

Louis huffs out a gentle laugh. “I’m not gay. Honestly.”

_But you’re something,_ Harry thinks. And that’s maybe something.

She doesn’t cry herself to sleep, but it’s a near thing.

:::

It’s a conversation that Harry and Louis have had before, realistically, since Harry noticed Louis’ near hero-worship for Kristen Cooper, the captain of the soccer team at Sacred Heart. Louis always blows it off with a glib comment, something about her technique being really good. Harry always loses track, as she’s not particularly keen on soccer.

It’s just—Harry once found Louis idly wandering the hallways at school when she was supposed to be in class; they were both supposed to be in class, but at least Harry had a bathroom pass. Whereas Louis had soccer ball tucked under one arm and a dreamy expression on her face. Harry stopped stock-still and looked at what Louis was staring so intently at: a poster announcing that Kristen was running for student council president, complete with smiling photo and lots of glitter glue.

Harry’s good with details.

She’s good at noticing when Louis sports her wide leather wristband around one arm, knows that it means that she needs to pull her aside for a hug and to gently request she talk to the counselor. Louis never does.

Harry’s good at noticing that Louis steals other people’s uniform sweaters, all of which are stitched with the owners’ name, so it’s not as though she’s being sneaky. 

She’s good at noticing when Louis is not paying attention in Spanish class, which is always. She so frequently asks for a restroom pass that Senora Dunn has begun praying for her bladder at the beginning of each class.

She’s good at reading Louis’ guilty face, too, like that one time she managed to get Louis to admit she brought vodka to school in a water bottle. She made Louis dump it out.

Harry is good at telling herself she’s a _pathetic stick in the mud not worthy of anyone’s time,_ but her voice dies out every time she tries to explain that feeling to Louis. Louis simply plops in her lap and cuddles her up, telling her she’s the best person in the world.

So when Harry forgets to eat because she’s too fucked up and lost in the sea of her own misery, Louis is there with a proverbial life raft and a smile.

Harry sometimes tries to count the number of times Louis’ saved her life, but she never manages to find a number that sounds right. A million, and a million more.

She’s only eighteen.

:::

Harry might be in three AP classes, in two honors classes, and on the debate team, but she has moments of being decidedly un-clever. “What?” she asks slowly, having been beckoned to sit at the kitchen table by her stern-looking mother.

“It’s not bad.”

“It looks bad. You look, like. Bad.”

Her mom rolls her eyes and hands over two large envelopes—oversized, even. “Big means acceptance, usually, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, blinking rapidly.

“Well, then, love. Two of your top four!” She stands up so quickly she nearly topples over the kitchen chair, gathering Harry into a fierce hug.

“They—didn’t they say they were going to send notifications electronically too? I thought that would arrive—I didn’t—really?” she stammers.

“I’m so excited for you. The world’s opening up!”

They do a weird shuffle-dance around the kitchen, Harry’s mom stroking her hair so, so carefully. Only after she offers to head to the grocery store to make Harry’s favorite dinner does Harry let herself breathe.

She might get into her second and fourth choice college, and with a partial scholarship for the latter, but she’s not always so clever, really.

:::

Harry shoves her phone into the breast pocket of her uniform shirt before she heads into school for the day, taking in a fortifying breath. She navigates the senior hallway (Senior Hallway!!!!) quickly, dumping her bag at the foot of her locker before shucking off her jacket. Louis swoops in, given that her locker is only two down from Harry’s, and she pulls at Harry’s swoopy bangs. “Sleepy?”

“Always,” Harry agrees, tucking her chin down to nestle into Louis’ shoulder.

“Shoved a diet coke in your locker, beebs, better chug it before homeroom.”

“Shit, I hate homeroom sometimes,” she adds, sighing.

“Homeroom’s only Fridays, goober. Sack up. Plus, bagels!” Louis notes, flicking her hair up like maybe she could murder everyone and be let off with a pardon.

“Wish you were in mine, though,” Harry adds, ridiculous and small as she ducks down to empty her bag.

“Alphabet’s a bitch, I’m afraid. Sit by me at assembly, though, yeah?”

“Yeah, duh,” Harry agrees easily, yanking down the hem of her uniform skirt until it reaches the appropriate length. She’s been lectured before. They all have.

:::

“Louise! I mean really,” Harry whispers, her lips ticked up into a fierce grin, her chin nestled into Louis’ shoulder.

“Stop calling me that, bitch baby,” Louis mutters, pinching Harry’s wrist.

“No, but, like. This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“We know not to discriminate against people,” Harry reasons slowly, nodding in time with her words.

“Do we?” Louis mutters, dropping her head to Harry’s shoulder. “Think Maxie might not.” She gestures to Max George, who is absolutely the worst person in the world as far as Louis is concerned. Meaning, Harry agrees. Mostly. “She was super racist when we read Othello last year, remember?”

“The rest of us know, though.”

“You say it, then maybe so,” Louis whispers, tucking an arm around Harry. And it doesn’t mean anything, probably.

:::

Harry sits outside the choir room with a battered notebook set on her lap, pencil scratching away steadily. Perrie nudges her with one foot. “Whatcha doing?”

“Just—writing.”

“Uh huh,” Perrie responds in a leading manner.

And what is there for Harry to say? That she needs something of her own , something self-contained, something that can help her feel like someone other than a spectator in her own life. She has no way to tell everyone she feels like a sidekick, a tagalong, the Tinkerbell to someone else’s Peter Pan. She has no way to voice the petty jealousy and rage that flits in and out of her on an hourly basis _without sounding absolutely insane._

“Just a story. Nothing really,” she adds lamely, flicking the cover closed. “God, is Mrs. Flack always late? At this rate we’ll never be ready for the concert.”

“Dunno.” Perrie purses her lips. “She’s got a stick up her ass planning the musical, I think.”

Harry groans. “Disaster. Walking disaster. Disaster on legs. I hate _Oklahoma!_ and it hates me. I don’t know if I’m going to try out or not.”

“Probs should. I’m pulling for Ado Annie, myself. Think Flack’s taken a shining to me a bit.”

“What’d you do, suck her dick or something?” Harry snaps, cheeks flushing.

“Please, like I’d fuck my way to the middle. I’m aiming for the top, sweetie.”

Harry goes cold and hot. “Forget I said anything. Wanna head in and warm up with me?”

“When you do your scales and your arpeggios!” Perrie agreed in a sing-song voice, leading the way into the choir room.

:::

Mrs. Flack casts Perrie as Ado Annie and, in a surprise upset, Nick as Curly. The rest of the cast is made of people Harry only knows slightly or not at all. She agrees to usher and work as tech.

She packs her bag as usual in the morning, driving herself the half-mile to get to Sacred Heart like she doesn’t want to put her head through a plate-glass window. She feels gray, or maybe beige. Mornings aren’t her forte, although she’s convinced her mother that walking to school is hazardous given that a sexual offender moved into the neighborhood during the summer.

Harry refuses to mention that the supposed predator lives on the other side of town and is apparently a nineteen-year-old who sent his underage girlfriend a nude sext. She doesn’t want to walk to school.

She walks through school without paying attention, tired and miserable and entirely willing to commit homicide with half a motive.

She cries on the drive home.

:::

Lately, Harry starts getting nervous and twitchy when her phone beeps, not only because Nick has taken to texting her. But maybe because that’s why.

And, the thing is. The thing is, Harry likes Nick. She likes that his hair is soft and he has a bright smile, and she really likes that he’s taller than her. 

She likes that he calls her pretty.

Harry texts him back all weekend, waiting the appropriate amount of time before doing so. She thinks that’s a thing, right, that _not trying to appear to eager_ thing? She’s been known to be way, way too eager.

She calls her sister Gemma to ask about protocol and gets vague instructions about safe sex, which are not remotely helpful.

Harry covers her nails in glitter polish, and she uses it as an excuse not to look at her phone.

:::

“Harriet, take the pro position, please,” Mr. Cowell requests , settling back against his chair as though he doesn’t care a bit.

Harry takes a fortifying breath, or what she considers fortifying, before speaking about immigration and legality and everything moral. She’s nervous about public speaking as usual, but she’s prepared. Louis’ helped her to prepare, and Shereen played with her hair before the debate to calm her down. Ostensibly.

Max doesn’t do so well. Harry bites her lip over a smile.

:::

Harry invites the girls over for the weekend, as they often do, her mother making pasta and offering soda and everything host-like. She and her friends lounge by the pool and float about, one-pieces and bikinis setting them apart, but just barely.

As the day gets dark, moving to night, Shereen jokes that they should skinny-dip, sounding maybe half-serious. Louis rolls with it, timing them all and making them stand with their backs to the pool. She makes sure no one peeks. 

After jumping in the pool, Harry loves the feeling of the free-moving water on her tits. But she says nothing.

:::

Harry thinks she’s maybe dating Nick, at least a little bit. They go out to dinner alone together like once a week and they go to the movies with their friends and they always sit next to one another, shoulders bumping in the dark. Harry’s mom _loves_ Nick, loves that he always accepts a snack when he comes over, loves that he offers to help her in the kitchen.

Harry likes the twisty feeling in her gut when she catches Nick staring at her. He tells her that she definitely should have tried out for the musical, because he thinks she’s got a lovely voice. He keeps paying for her meals, too, when they go out, even though she’s taken to slapping his hand away and trying to hand the cashier her debit card.

Nick thinks he wants to be a doctor or a pharmacist, and he’s forever telling Harry how smart she is. He also usually waits patiently for her to make a decision about what they should eat, even after she promises, “I don’t care, really.”

“I know. But I chose the other day, s’only fair.”

And maybe they end up at Chipotle more often than not, because they’re in fucking high school. They’re not married or anything.

:::

Nick’s driving her home one night after sitting through a truly ridiculous rehearsal of _Oklahoma._ “Um,” she begins, her voice shuddery in her chest. “You know I like you, right?”

He laughs quietly, hands firm on the wheel as he stares straight ahead. “I like you too.”

That’s more or less the last they say for the rest of the car ride, except for the hug and _night_ when he drops her off in her driveway, leaning awkwardly across the console.

:::

She has a party that’s not truly a rager, mostly because her mom dumped out all the liquor, convinced as she was that Harry’s stepdad was a _problem drinker._ It’s still pretty fun. So even though her parents are out of town, the whole thing is strangely innocent.

They watch shitty films and throw popcorn at one another, acting drunk without being drunk. Nick stops her by the front door as she’s showing people out, shunting himself so he’s the last she bids good-bye. She has a garbage bag filled with discarded popcorn and soda cans in one hand, the drawstring done up tight. “Hey, let me,” he says as she shuffles her feet, taking the bag from her.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” He bites at his bottom lip, eyes looking everywhere but at hers. “This was fun.”

“Yeah, I mean. Hope so,” she agrees, hands itching to take the trash bag back from him. He ducks into her personal space, looming over her accidentally.

Then Nick asks Harry to be his girlfriend, and she says yes.


	2. Makeout Kids Never Had the Chance to Be Best Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry pulls her phone out from beneath her pillow as soon as her mother leaves the room.  
>  _think my mom just tried to pull me out of the closet_ she sends to Louis.
> 
>  
> 
> _are you fucking kidding me? That’s hilarious!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Motion City Soundtrack's song Makeout Kids

“Well but Stan’s asked me, though. To prom. So I thought, like. Could be fun.”

“He what?”

“He wrote it out in chalk on the sidewalk, out by the door. Just front? In front of school.” Louis pauses, her face closing up as though she’s thinking about it. “It was so cute, Haz. Did you not see?”

“No, I—no, sorry.” A fiery feeling fills Harry’s gut, unbidden and uncomfortable.

“But I think I’ll go, yeah? Since he asked.”

“You think?”

Louis rolls her eyes. “Your boyfriend is taking you, bitch. Give us all the luxury, eh?”

“Nick hasn’t asked, though.”

“He will.”

“Whatever. So you and Stan, then? How long has that been going on?”

Louis has the good grace to look startled. “It hasn’t, not really. He only just broke up with Mary.”

“So you’re going as friends, or something?”

She raises a brow. “I’m not sure. We’ll see, I guess. Anyway, I gotta go grab my stuff before Bio.” She yanks on a strand of Harry’s hair.

Harry passes through her morning classes in a gray daze, unfocused but aware enough to get by. By lunchtime her stomach is growling and her blood sugar has dropped, giving her an unsteady, shaky feeling that she loathes. She feels like she’s tipping sideways, like a breeze might very easily knock her over.

Eating helps a bit, although her school’s endless array of chicken dishes are hardly appetizing even on a good day, let alone a day where she feels like she might actually pass out.

She heads to her locker before her afternoon classes, furrowing her brows when she spots a plastic container set in front of it. It looks like a cake pan. When she pries the lid off, she laughs aloud.

 _HS, Prom? –NG_ is written on top of a two-layer cake in bright blue, cheerfully covered in multicolor sprinkles. She swipes one finger in the frosting and sets the lid back on the container before pulling out her phone.

 _Yes, I’d love to! Cake looks delicious :D_ she texts Nick

_That’s what I hoped you’d say! Call you tonight?_

_Yeah sounds perfect. I’m off to take a Spanish test ugh._

_Bon chance._

:::

Harry finds herself nearly face-planting into her homework that afternoon, which is perhaps unsurprising given that she’s stretched out on the living room floor on her stomach. And given that she’s always sleep-deprived and lacking in caffeine. Her stomach clenches whenever she hears her phone buzz, with Nick texting her from afternoon play practice, and on his drive home, and throughout his own struggle with homework. And all night, really.

She has the newest Katy Perry album on repeat, has been listening to it ever since Nick burned it for her last week. Her mother has only yelled at her once to turn it down, too busy trying to clean out the basement for the third time in as many weeks. Her mother has a habit of—not hoarding, exactly, but hanging onto things for sentimental rather than practical reasons. Harry finds the clutter stressful but has no desire to help organize.

She uses her homework as an excuse not to clean, when in fact she’s spent most of her time lately writing stories and drabbles and snippets of Harry Potter fan fiction. She supposes what her mother doesn’t know won’t really hurt anyone. This is the reason she refused her mother’s facebook friend request. Harry’s not even a troublemaker, she just wants a touch of privacy.

Harry feels a headache start pulsing behind one eye, so she lurches to her feet slowly and takes two Tylenol. She begs off dinner in favor of taking a nap, knowing she’ll wake up in the middle of the night unable to sleep, but she can’t bring herself to care.

:::

Since Harry’s mother loves Nick a great deal, she very rarely leaves them alone together. Granted this is her _modus operandi_ with Harry’s friends, content as she is to relive her adolescence through her daughter. Or to perfect Harry’s life by giving her all the things she herself never had? Harry’s unsure.

So their relationship stays fairly innocent, except for short makeout sessions in front of Nick’s car when Harry walks him out of the house. Harry finds it more confusing than frustrating, given that her friends are constantly bemoaning their own lack of breasts compared to Harry’s sizable rack. But she’s also glad for it, inexperienced as she is compared to Nick, who’s had three or four girlfriends before Harry.

Harry gets nervous about a lot of things, and sex is kind of terrifying and exhilarating for her. She long ago abandoned the idea of waiting until marriage, preferring to wait for love, or something like love. She wants to be ready, at the very least, and she doesn’t feel ready yet.

So she’s glad Nick isn’t pressuring her about anything, and that he doesn’t seem to be in any kind of rush. It’s just that she also doesn’t know what to make of it, warned as she has been for so long that guys are mostly only interested in sex and sports. She knows— _she knows_ —that this is a gross overgeneralization and stereotype, but she nonetheless remains horribly confused about everything. Always.

She tries to talk to Louis about it sometimes, but Louis has adopted a strange attitude about sex in light of Nick: she refuses to talk about anything serious, instead making innuendo after innuendo and offering to steal condoms for her, should she need them.

“I just don’t really have any advice, that’s all,” Louis eventually says one afternoon, lying haphazardly across Harry’s bed, scrolling through her phone. “I’ve never done it.”

“I know you haven’t, that’s not—it’s just that everyone’s way more experienced than me and I don’t know what I’m doing and no amount of reading can prepare me!” Harry refuses to make eye contact with Louis, preferring to idly search on the internet for a potential prom dress.

“Reading?” Louis sits up swiftly. “What are you reading, exactly? Cosmo?”

“No, just like—you know, sex advice columns.” _And gay fan fiction, which is decidedly unhelpful,_ she doesn’t say aloud.

“Gross, really?”

“Yes,” Harry admits slowly.

“What do they say?”

“Just that like, it’s not supposed to hurt, and do it with someone you trust. And try to figure out what you like, first.”

“What do you mean, try to figure out what you like? Like fantasize about stuff or something?”

“Yeah, and like—try stuff on your own.” Harry lowers the screen of her laptop a bit.

“Gross!” Louis says again with a loud laugh, collapsing back on to the bedspread.

Harry’s cheeks go bright pink. “You’ve never—that either?”

“Nope,” she replies, popping the _p_ for emphasis.

“I’m just nervous, okay.”

“Hey, he’s a good guy. He wouldn’t, like, pressure you or hurt you or anything.”

“That’s not what I mean, I’m just—nervous.”

“Yeah, you’re always nervous. I know.”

“Does it ever go away?”

“What, anxiety? I dunno, probably eventually.”

“No, but like, being nervous about this stuff.”

“When you’re in love, I think. Probably.”

“God, that sounds even more terrifying.” She shivers slightly and clicks open a page. “What about this dress?”

Louis leans forward. “Fuck no, Haz, you need something to show off your tits!”

“Nothing fits me right, they’re so annoying,” Harry mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. “Maybe I should take my mom up on her offer to get them reduced?”

“I mean. It’s up to you, but I wouldn’t mess with perfection,” Louis says with a small laugh. “Hey, this one’s cute,” she adds, clicking open to a mermaid style dress with a deep-v and a low-cut back.

“I won’t be able to wear a bra with that, Lou!”

“We’re only perky teenagers for so long. Work it, yeah?”

Harry rolls her eyes, snorting in laughter when Louis grabs her left breast. “Bad touch, bad touch!” she cries, rolling sideways so quickly she nearly falls off the bed.

“Harry!” comes a call from downstairs. “Come help with dinner! You staying, Louis?”

“Only if that’s okay with you!” Louis yells, hopping off the bed before Harry can catch her breath.

:::

Louis leaves late in the evening, accustomed as she is to the habits of Harry’s family but also knowing that her own mother needs help around the house, particularly with Louis’ many siblings.

“Church in the morning,” Harry’s mother reminds her as she’s getting ready for bed, eliciting a groan. “Hey now, none of that. We haven’t been in weeks.”

“That’s because Gemma and I hate going to church,” Harry reminds her, tying her hair back into a low ponytail before moving her laptop to her desk to let it charge for the night.

Her mother snorts, picking up a pile of clothes on Harry’s floor. “That’s the most ridiculous excuse in the world. Not everything we do can be fun, okay?”

“Isn’t going to a Catholic school enough?”

“No. You chose to go there.” She sorts through the clothes slowly, tossing things into the hamper by the closet door.

“Yeah, because it’s a good school. Not because I, like, like religion.”

Harry’s mom stops moving. “You don’t?”

“I just hate going to church, okay? Can’t I skip tomorrow?”

“No. End of discussion.”

“Fine.” Harry flops onto her unmade bed.

“Listen, I actually came in here to ask you something,” her mother adds, sitting at Harry’s desk.

“Oh God, what’d I do?”

“Nothing, I just—what’s up with you and Louis lately? I’m just wondering.”

Harry blinks rapidly. “I don’t know. Nothing?”

“You two seem a little intense, is all.”

“Yeah, she’s my best friend.”

“Your best friend? Just?”

“Yes?”

“You’re sure?”

Harry swallows. “Yes.”

“It’s—Robin said he kind of gets this vibe from her, so I said I’d talk to you about it.”

“Just because she’s a soccer player doesn’t mean she’s a—”

“You know that’s not what I meant!”

“I’m dating Nick. Louis’ my best friend. Please stop talking.”

“Right. Okay. Anyway I’ll wake you up at eight tomorrow.” She walks over to give Harry a kiss on the forehead. “Do you want me to turn your light off?”

“No thanks. I’m gonna read for a bit.”

“G’night.”

Harry pulls her phone out from beneath her pillow as soon as her mother leaves the room.  
 _think my mom just tried to pull me out of the closet_ she sends to Louis.

_are you fucking kidding me? That’s hilarious!_

_No it’s not, I’m super uncomfortable right now!_

_did she hear us joking about getting married or something? What’d she say_

_I dunno something about getting a weird vibe_

_you’d make a terrible lesbian considering you’re dating a dude and all_

_I’m not a lesbian!_

_tell her that not me hahaha_

Harry sighs. And what does it say that her first instinct was to text Louis about it all, rather than Nick? What does it say that she gets a weird feeling in her stomach whenever she sees either of them, not just her boyfriend? The kind of weird feeling that people write pop songs about, the kind of weird feeling that authors fill hundreds upon hundreds of young-adult novels about, the kind of fluttery feeling you never want to stop? What does it mean that Stan makes Harry irrationally jealous and he hasn’t even really done anything except exist? What does it mean that Harry wants Louis to be jealous of Nick, too?

Harry thinks she knows what it means, and she thinks her mother does, too.

:::

She spends church bored out of her mind, daydreaming about doing absolutely anything else. She mentally begins writing an English paper that’s due in a week, then composing texts to Nick and Louis and Perrie about seeing a movie later in the afternoon.

A medium-sized group assembles at the movie theater, including Greg and Shereen and Luke. They loaf about in the lobby, the boys periodically whipping at one another with their sweatshirts or hats while the girls roll their eyes.

“Oy, goobers, let’s find our seats,” Harry calls, jabbing at Nick’s arm with one finger. They traipse along after her and they file into a row, making perhaps an unnecessary amount of noise. Perhaps.

She sits next to Nick and leans her head against his shoulder, shivering slightly at the chill. She always forgets that theaters are colder than the outside world, their own self-contained reality apparently requiring a deep-freeze level of air conditioning.

Nick quickly shrugs out of his sweatshirt and passes it to her. She accepts gratefully, taking in the scent of his boyish cologne. She smiles, getting easily lost in the movie and the feel of his sturdy shoulder beneath her head.

They hold hands when he drives her home, listening to weird poppy techno that Nick really likes. He begs off coming inside, claiming he still has homework left to do before Monday. She nods, shucking off his sweatshirt to hand back to him.

“No, keep it for awhile.”

“You sure?” she asks, propping the car door open with one foot as she slides the sweatshirt back on.

“Yeah, course. Just give it back to me when we break up.”

“Oh.” She blinks and nods mutely, accepting a perfunctory kiss from his as he leans over the center console of his car.

“Good night,” he adds as she exits the front seat.

“Good night,” she agrees, slamming the door shut behind her. He waits until she enters her house before backing out of the driveway and driving away.

 _When?_ What the fuck?

 

:::

“What the fuck?” Louis echoes. “Dude’s a dick.”

“I think he’s just kind of a tool.”

“A dick is a tool, technically. For fucking people up.”

“I just—don’t get it.”

“You haven’t talked about it? Since then?”

“I’m too pissed off! And confused and annoyed and overthinking it and everything else.”

“But like—why did he even ask you out, if he planned to break up?”

“Because he’s a dumbass!”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea. It’s not like I _want_ to break up with him. That’s kind of why I’m pissed.”

“Is it—because of college or something?”

“I literally have no idea.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah.”

“You need to talk to him, H.”

_“What do I say.”_

“Oh, babe. I have no idea.”

:::

And Harry ignores it, because she’s just as much of a dumbass as everyone else she knows. She ignores it and kisses Nick and ignores that he never touches her tits.

_She ignores it._

She studies with her classmates and helps as a tech at the play rehearsals and even hugs Nick hello every afternoon, kissing being mostly discouraged in Sacred Heart’s halls. She lets things go due to nerves and stasis and the fact that she honestly does like Nick a great deal. Harry likes his wavy-stiff hair, his broad shoulders, and his stature. She tries to calm her heart every time she thinks of him, but then, perhaps she’s used to that.

She’s terrible at calming herself down, though, is the thing, and her friends mock her for it sometimes. Fuck, even Nick, in all his desire to continue to impress her, makes fun of her for her anxiety and the crazy-making way she has of existing in the world.

She does not like being the crazy one in any situation, whether in her friend group or in her relationship.

So she thinks she might be making a big deal out of nothing. And she ignores it.

:::

“We’re taking your car, right?” Nick asks, nudging Harry’s shin with his foot. They’re strategizing about prom, which mostly means they’re sitting at a booth at Noodles and Co., loitering well past the time they should have left. Free refills and all.

“Yeah yeah,” Harry agrees, rolling her eyes. “You just want to drive my car.”

“Considering your car is a BMW, yes. That would be accurate.”

“You’re only dating me for my car,” she teases. “I see how it is.”

His face falls. “Hey that’s not true. Honest.”

She’s somehow stepped on a landmine and she has no idea what to make of it. She pulls a face rather than digging deeper, adding, “If you say so. My dress is green.”

“Like green-green? Or light green.”

“Um, like emerald I guess.”

They set about to plan more logistical details, murmuring to one another and ignoring the annoyed looks from the waitstaff of the restaurant. Everything’s fine.

:::

Stan asks Louis to be his girlfriend just before they attend prom together and Harry goes ballistic. Internally, at least. She seethes and rages and _hates_ herself for it, knowing she’s irrational and utterly, utterly fucked.

Something’s wrong with her, and she can’t pinpoint just exactly what it is. She has no idea how to fix it.

She mentions nothing of her white-hot jealousy to anyone, particularly not to Louis. Instead she lets it molder and sink down inside herself, threatening to ruin everything.

:::

Harry bolsters herself up for the dance, trying not to set her expectations too high lest they be dashed. She’s used to her own tendencies by now, used to her own unrealistic expectations and her tendency to daydream about things that will definitely never happen. She sets herself up for disaster sometimes, and makes it worse by voicing absolutely none of her desires.

Overall, Harry’s kind of fucked.

But she participates. She gets a fluttery feeling in her stomach about the whole thing, even. She gets worried before Nick even arrives at her house, plucking at the hem of her dress and wondering if she’s showing too much cleavage.

Then the doorbell rings and she can’t much worry anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've mentioned that this is a fairly decent caricature of my own adolescence right
> 
> tumblr: musiclily

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: musiclily
> 
> don't hate me


End file.
